


mark our shapes

by strandedAeronaut



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Study, Gen, Past Child Abuse, the slowburn friendship fic you never asked for but always wanted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedAeronaut/pseuds/strandedAeronaut
Summary: In which McCree is depressed, and Sombra is bad at making actual friends, and they become roommates.





	1. 1 - a crystal healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which McCree begrudgingly acquires a roommate.

Light streamed through cracks in the blinds, landing across his eyes. Good fuckin’ morning, sunshine, he thought to himself. Fuck, his eyes hurt. Kind of his head in general hurt. All right, Jesse, get vertical, get water, don’t throw up, eat something.

He struggled upright- hell yeah, killing it today, Jesse, don’t puke don’t puke don’t puke aaaaaand we’re standing. Great. Kitchen next, don’t hit the doorway- ah shit, every damn time. There’s a dent in the frame, but look, if he could feel his arm he would hit less things with it on accident, all right. Where was he going? Kitchen. Fuck, it was bright in here. He shuffled to the sink with his eyes squeezed shut and managed to get cold water running, maybe sticking his head under the tap would help AUGH fuck that’s cold fuck fuck fuck hah WOW that didn’t help much at all-

“Good morning!” Who the fuck was that. It sure as hell wasn’t him sounding that chirpy at this ungodly hour of… What time was it. Quarter past two in the afternoon, apparently. Oh. He squinted towards the mystery voice and saw a purple figure perched on the couch, watching him intently.

“Wha’?”

“I said good morning, Jesse McCree.”

“Is it? Ow. Who are you. What happened? Why are you here and on my couch.”

“You weren’t in a state to discuss business last night… lucky for you I was there, and that the bartender likes you so much. Apparently you always ask how his kids are doing, and tip more than your drinks cost. Of course by then you’re.. how do you put it? Drunker than a skunk, but he still appreciates it. They’re doing fine, by the way, Matías started middle school and Abril is the star of her football team this season.”

“Oh. Good.” The voice sounded kind of familiar… the night before was a blur, but he could pretty well imagine it saying “Another round? It’s on me.”

Aw, shit. He squinted a little harder at the figure’s face. God _dammit_ , Jesse, this was sloppy even by your standards, imagine what Gabe would say if he knew your damn informant had followed you home and spent the night in your safe house without you knowing. The mere thought of The Look of Disappointment- oh god, no, not the eyebrow raise- sent him packing to sobriety.

Sombra was dangerously good at her job. She had an uncanny way of sussing out every little detail of your life, and picking out the bits of you that you didn’t like the most and peering at them under a bright light and a magnifying glass. Every other informant he’d asked about her had just shrugged and said they didn’t know anything about her or where she’d come from. No one on Earth did. Some had provided wildly unbelievable theories, that she was a faerie that stole your soul when she learned your name, that she was a mass hallucination and a product of the Mandela effect, that she secretly controlled the whole world… all bullshit, most likely, but he wasn’t about to dismiss all of them entirely, because rumors and conspiracy theories could be useful, and, very occasionally, accurate.

He opened a drawer, and drew out a good-sized kitchen knife, since Peacekeeper was likely still in his holster, lying on his bedroom floor. “What do you want, Sombra?”

“What do I want? I hate to admit it, but I’m in some hot water with… well, no need to elaborate on that right now. I need a place to stay for a little while until things cool down, and I need space to do my work. I would also like for you to put that knife down, but since it probably makes you feel better about this situation, I’m all right with you keeping it. So here’s the deal: you let me lay low here for a couple of months, and I won’t release your personal information and location to every bounty hunter in the hemisphere.”

“What if, instead, I solve this problem by doing what I do best, and put a bullet in your skull?”

“Oh… I wouldn’t do that if I were you. See, I’ve set up a deadman switch, as you may have guessed- overused trope, I know, but hey! If it works, it works, right? If I die, off that information goes, all over the world.”

“If I don’t kill you and everything goes peacefully, what’s to stop you from sharing the information anyway?”

“Nothing but my word, which I give to you.” She smiled, sharklike. Neither of them broke eye contact.

His lip curled.

“One month.”

“Well, my proposition was two…”

“ _One_.”

“Fine. I’ll take it. Do you have a spare room? An air bed, perhaps?”

“No, just the couch.”

“Damn.”


	2. 2 - creeping vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sleep is interrupted, the fridge is broken, and the night is unkind. 
> 
> Warnings for emetophobia, alcohol, and a kinda vague description of a panic attack from an outside perspective.

Sombra awoke to the flicking of a light switch and a series of clunks and thumps coming from the kitchen. Sitting up, she squinted against the light, to see… “McCree. Why are you taking apart the fridge.”

He squinted back at her, and instead of answering, pulled a large chunk of machinery out of the freezer section, setting it on the table with a thunk. He looked like shit. She considered herself both an artist and critic in a lifelong exhibition of impressive eyebags, and although his were easily outdone by the products of the Great Hack-a-thon of ‘61, they were nonetheless pretty damn bad. (During the Hack-a-thon she’d worked on the Chupacabra program for 41 hours straight, and after finishing it had immediately blacked out. Since then she’d gotten more efficient in her creative process, but the Chupacabra was one of her best works, and after a few tweaks along the way she was still using it.)

“Go back to sleep.”

“No, but seriously, why are you taking apart the fridge?”

“The ice maker’s busted.”

“I guess I should clarify. Why are you taking apart the fridge at _three-fucking-twenty-six in the goddamn morning._ ”

“Couldn’t sleep. Do you want ice or not?”

“I _guess_. Do you have to do this now? Or can you at least do it quieter?”

“It’s my damn house, I’ll take apart my own fuckin’ fridge when I feel like it! Find somewhere else to go if you don’t like it, see if I care!”

“Wow. Cranky.”

“Fuck off.”

Instead of fucking off, Sombra just wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and wandered over to the kitchen table, by now strewn with parts of the ice maker. McCree glanced up from the small motor he’d been glaring at and scowled at her instead, then picked up a screwdriver and started jimmying something in it.

“My bet’s on the gasket,” Sombra offered helpfully.

“Why.”

“Isn’t it always the gasket?”

“Ain’t the gasket.”

“How do you know?”

“Replaced it last time this thing quit on me, and that was less than a month ago.” He lifted the motor to the light and eyed it critically. “If it’s busted already, and I doubt it is, I’m leaving the seller the worst review I can muster… see, look, this part’s out of alignment. Easy fix, if I can bend it back… pass me the needle nose pliers, would you?”

“Aw, sorry. I can’t, I’m late to fucking off. Hey, if you’re not using it, can I sleep on your bed? The couch is all lumpy and smells like cheese.”

“Sure. If you pass the pliers.”

She passed him the thin-nose pliers instead and sidled into his room and had shut the door before he could do anything about it. His bed _was_ a lot more comfortable than the couch, and smelled less like cheese, but the sheets were long overdue for a wash. She set a reminder to do laundry for the morning, and settled in.

She’d almost fallen asleep when she heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by a growled “Fuck. _Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, god damn it, shit, shit shit shit shit sh-”, which lapsed into less coherent sounds, getting quieter. Well, she was nothing if not nosy, so she poked her head out the door.

She found McCree huddled in a corner of the kitchen, knees drawn up to his chest, with his prosthetic hand clutching the front of his shirt and his other to his head, tangled in his hair. His breathing was rapid and erratic, and his eyes were screwed shut. As she approached they slammed open, immediately focusing on her. She picked her way over, avoiding the wreckage of the ice maker strewn across the floor, and sat down next to him, cross-legged.

“You all right?”

He didn’t answer, but kept his eyes fixed on her. She waited. Slowly, his breaths became more regular and his body relaxed. His eyes lost their intensity and drifted shut, and he dropped his head onto his knees with a strained sigh.

“ _Now_ are you all right?”

Instead of answering, he reached up and scrabbled for the counter, hoisting himself up and lurching unsteadily towards the bathroom. Sombra sauntered behind, tagging along mostly out of curiosity. He stopped at the door, hand against the frame for support, and looked at her.

“ ‘M gonna hurl,” he mumbled, and staggered inside. Sombra decided she didn’t need to see that part, and went to clean up the parts off the kitchen floor to the soundtrack McCree provided. It would’ve helped to shut the door behind him, she mused to herself. Retching gave way to a flush and the sound of the running sink, and after a few minutes he stumbled out and straight to the couch, which he flopped on with a groan.

Sombra wandered over. “Jeez. What’s wrong with you?”

McCree said something, but his face was buried in the cushions, and she couldn’t make anything of it.

“Come again?”

He shifted. “A lot.”

Well. Sombra put her hands on her hips and surveyed the scene. Ice maker (dismantled) on the table, a few beer bottles in the recycling from last night, a more recent (and more importantly, two-thirds empty) bottle of whiskey on the counter, and McCree, post-panic attack and probably (definitely) inebriated, and who’d said he couldn’t sleep earlier… what had woken him up, or what had kept him up? Research for another day. For now, leave him to try sleeping it off, and enjoy an actual bed.

She left a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the table next to the couch. Tomorrow morning would _suck_ , and it wouldn’t be any use trying to get anything at all out of him if he was hopelessly hungover.

That’s what she told herself, anyway. A little part of her said it was her getting soft, and whispered warnings against attachments - _he will not help you, he will not stay for you, he will use your skills and move on without you as so many have done, stay sharp, do not trust, do not let your guard down_...

She told it to shut up, and went to sleep.


	3. 3 - seek me in their numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sombra reflects.

Hexagons danced in the air, mauve, lavender, lilac. Images and text awoke and were dismissed or expanded and edited, then spun back to disappear. Her keys beeped and chimed softly as they were pressed, singing in a language only she and machines understood. A far cry from the setup of her youth… a keyboard restrained by the simple alphabet and actual  _ screens _ , pulled from junk piles and repaired, laughably outdated but functional. A kit scrapped together out of things nobody wanted anymore, operated by a child no one cared about anymore, because there was no one left… 

That was the past. Leave it behind. Keep moving. She didn’t  _ need _ them. She had found her own way. Los Muertos had fancied that she was theirs, that she considered them family, that she would rely on them. A  _ gross _ overestimation. Food, shelter, better technology, that was all she wanted from them, and that she got.

She had trusted them, once, before she learned the way of the world. She didn’t know then that while those in charge liked having her around and alive, they didn’t care much for her, and didn’t mind what state she was in, as long as she could type. She had learned that people didn’t much like it when a child knew more about them than they did, and that they got angry when they didn’t understand a child that didn’t express her emotions the same way they did, and that they didn’t always do what was logical or kind when they were angry… 

They learned that she had power, and a long, long memory. The bosses wouldn’t care if she was hurt… but  _ she _ would. And she could wait, oh, she could wait, and she could pay back, with interest. She knew where they lived. She knew where their children went to school, where their spouses worked, what kind of dog they had… and she knew all the little gripes and disagreements Los Muertos members had with one another, because she was  _ very _ good at going unnoticed, and simply sitting in the corner and listening gave her so much to work with. She didn’t need to be strong enough to exact revenge on her own, not when she could just have someone else do it for her by dropping an anonymous tip in their inbox. Here’s the chance you’ve been waiting for, my friend.

By eight, she was feared and mostly left alone, which was just fine by her, and by twelve she had all the resources she needed to be completely independent of Los Muertos.

 Purple light shone across her face, and she smiled, content.


	4. 4 - self-help tapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it seems that people watching is a mutual hobby.

Sombra made a habit- no, a hobby, out of watching people, especially the things they did when they thought no one was watching. Their strange habits, their little preferences, their little indulgences. She enjoyed picking out all the little pieces that made their whole. 

Jesse McCree, she found out, had a lot of strange habits. To begin with, his safe house (one of several, most likely- perhaps he considered this the safest) was... organized, in a sense, but not tidy. Stacks of books that on closer inspection had been collected from used bookstores around the world on a variety of topics (though the majority focused on history, and the bulk of those on American history. More than a few were romance novels of questionable quality) tilted precariously from perches on countertops, steps, beside the worn couch, in the middle of the living room floor, and doubtless other nooks and crannies she had yet to find. The sink was full of dirty dishes, carefully stacked so as to fit them in the space as efficiently as possible to put off washing them. He had a well-loved mug with whatever decoration it used to possess scraped and scuffed beyond recognition that he drank pretty much everything out of. This included coffee, water, whiskey, cold tea (distinct from iced tea, in that it was made hot, then forgotten about), soup, and on one memorable occasion, sour milk. 

He acted less intelligent than he was, and called himself a dumbass frequently, especially when he dropped things. His handwriting was terrible, but not in the usual way; generally, handwriting became terrible when a person was so comfortable with it that they forgot that other people were supposed to be able to read it. His was an uncoordinated scrawl, the motions to make the letters seemingly unfamiliar. She learned later that he was once left-handed, and that his prosthetic didn’t have the fine motor control or delicacy needed to write. Once or twice she watched him absently pick out a pencil with his left hand and snap it in half on accident. It wasn’t difficult to tell that it frustrated him, and she offered to update the arm’s code (for a price, of course) but was politely declined.

He didn’t like loud sound, but also didn’t like quiet. He played guitar, out on the porch when the weather was nice, and had an untrained but pleasant singing voice. He left the radio in the kitchen on constantly at a low volume, usually tuned to a news channel, and whistled or hummed to himself when doing things around the house.

He asked about her work, but didn’t pry too deeply, and offered an occasional second perspective on organizations she mentioned that he had run into before. Usually the information isn’t new, but he seemed to enjoy telling the stories, and she found she enjoyed listening.

She decided that Mccree could be considered trustworthy.

\---

Jesse Mccree had also made a habit out of watching people, but for different reasons. He was taught how in Blackwatch, and Reyes had drilled it into becoming second nature. In his more recent work, predicting a person’s movements has saved his life on innumerable occasions. 

Sombra tended to make herself unnoticed. She slinked and skulked around the house, and took joy in making him jump by sitting next to him and waiting until he noticed, which sometimes took longer than his pride would allow him to admit. Despite her height she took up little space, tending to fold herself into an apparently comfortable pretzel with her knees drawn up at odd angles. She didn’t have any kind of routine, preferring to sleep when she was tired and work when she was not. She either ate half her weight in food in one sitting and nothing else for a whole day, or grazed continuously. She subsisted solely on microwaveable foods, which Jesse could respect, if not necessarily endorse.

She stretched every morning, and took good care of the implants augmenting her nervous system. They granted her extra speed and reflexes, and a strength that was surprising given her lanky form. He’d watched her catch glasses falling off tables perfectly, two inches before they hit the ground, without any apparent effort. She didn’t smoke, but seemed a little bewildered when he went to smoke outside on the porch instead of inside, in deference to that fact. He guessed that she didn’t spend much time around other people in any casual context, and after a little while living with her, decided that likely wasn’t a recent thing- she’d been alone for a long time. She wasn’t comfortable with small talk, which wasn’t his main evidence, but she seemed off-balance when he did little things like pick up her dishes or refill her coffee mug without her having to ask, or do it herself. Little ordinary actions he’d assumed went with the social territory were alien to her, little concessions made for another person’s comfort. She didn’t seem to feel welcome, even though she made like she owned the place. Maybe she’d never really been around people who want her around- understandable, given how dangerous she was, but… That wasn’t a way to live. That, he knew himself.

Every conversation they’d had so far had felt very “she knows that I know that she knows that I know that she knows that I know that she knows x”. It was… exhausting, sure, but felt just like his favorite type of missions, back in the old days, when he’d been under such deep and dangerous cover that if he made a mistake he’d be dead before he realized. Reyes had shaken his head and called Jesse a reckless blockhead for jumping at the chance to take them on, but what was life without a little risk? He was good at them, anyway, especially when he’d been young enough to pose as a college student… they’d never seen him coming, and they never knew what had hit them when Blackwatch had had their way. 

He’d missed this, the constant tightrope balancing, and the challenge of an opponent that easily matched him with the advantage that no one, anywhere, knew a damn thing about her. Well, that was just fine. The folks after the bounty on his head hadn’t produced anywhere near this much difficulty, with what he knew about hiding in plain sight. He half wanted to give the world a hint and make a public appearance without the cowboy getup, but the bright red serape and wild beard were too good a distraction to part with. Coupled with his hat shading his face in most photos, without them he could be effectively invisible in plain clothes.

Sombra had seen him without his gear, many times, by now. He supposed that since she hadn’t killed him or given his safe house away yet, he could probably trust her with that information. 

For now.


	5. 5- all sad faces at my window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jesse reflects. 
> 
> Warning for canon-typical past gun violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to everyone reading and to those leaving such nice comments! i haven't gotten around to responding to... any of them OTL but i really appreciate them :DD

A green jacket. Grey shirt, dark red-brown stain, spreading slick across the lower right part of the torso. Shitty shot, missed organs. The second shot, from a steadier hand, does not miss, and an older voice chastises as an elbow hits his shoulder, knocking him sideways. He does not feel it. He hears the shot, hears them speak, can smell the iron in the air and the smoke on his jacket, but it does not register. He takes in the scene as if outside it, as if in a dream… this  _ was _ a dream, a memory, he was not in Santa Fe, he was no longer fourteen and stupid, showing anyone who paid any interest the new, sore skull logo tattoo on his arm, filled with bravado masking fear and surrounded by friends who were not friends, who shoved a revolver in his hands and said go.

He opened his eyes. It was dark. The ceiling was still the ceiling. It had a hair-thin crack in it, slightly too far left to be right above him. Was it thicker than it was yesterday? He shifted, bringing his right arm up to his left forearm, to scratch at the tattoo there- but he remembered, just before his fingertips hit, that it was no longer there, replaced by metal. He should have taken it off to sleep. Angela would have his ass… but Angela wasn’t here. Angela didn’t know he was missing an arm.

He wonders if she was awake, too. He used to wander down to her end of the med bay, when nights like this happened, and she would be there hiding from her own dreams, poring over diagrams and willing life to bloom where it should wither. She used to hate him, hate his history, hate that a murderer and a thief was allowed to roam free, hate that Overwatch was not the paragon of virtue that the world believed it was, that it was dirty work that did the cleaning. Eventually she had warmed, because it was lonely, being young and tired with Death watching over your shoulder every night, and wondering if Death would be disappointed or satisfied with your work.

He had done well, satisfying Death. Angela did well disappointing it. Together they made decent friends.

He stared a little longer at the ceiling. The crack did not widen. It never did.


	6. 6 - welcome them inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they watch the Matrix, and talk about cryptids.

“These graphics are _great_. Just stellar.”

Sombra smacked in the vague direction of Jesse’s arm, eyes locked on the screen. “Shh. This is the best part.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And it keeps being true. Now shut up.”

Jesse leaned back as he watched Neo get thrown into another wall. “This is your favorite movie of all time?”

“Yes! And the visual effects were cutting edge at the time, I’ll have you know- oh shit! Oh shit oh shit! You have to watch this part, you have to-”

“Is he going to throw him in front of the train?”

“Yes!! Shut up and watch!!”

The Agent jumped down, following Neo to the tracks. “You hear that, Mr Anderson? That… is the sound of inevitability.” The train drew nearer. “It is the sound of your death.”

“ _Fantastic_ writing.” Sombra smacked his arm, landing a solid hit. “Owww.”

“Goodbye, Mr Anderson.”

“My name… is _Neo_.” He launched the two into the air, hitting the tunnel ceiling, and backflipped out of the way of the train. It rushed by as he teetered on the edge.

“Okay, that was kinda cool, I’ll grant you that.” Sombra cackled in response, revelling in her victory. She paused the movie with a flick of her wrist and turned to him, practically bouncing in her seat.

“The part where they’re stopped in midair and it pans around them- that wasn’t CGI, that was this huge arc of like thirty high speed cameras. This movie pioneered bullet time, and now it’s everywhere. Did you know two of Neo’s stunt doubles were hurt in this scene? And that this part went _ten days_ over schedule when they were filming it? And here, I’ll tell you a secret-” Sombra leaned in, dropping to a stage whisper, “Keanu Reeves is _still alive_.”

“There’s no way. Didn’t he die decades ago?”

“I’m serious! The man’s immortal. There’s been sightings, and I’ve run facial recognition on the videos that exist. He hasn’t even aged, it’s really him!”

“Show me, show me-”

Sombra pulled up her interface and rifled through files for a few seconds, then triumphantly pulled out a small collection of videos. “You think I’d lie about Keanu Reeves?”

Jesse watched them, then watched again, squinting and glancing up at the paused screen. “Shit.”

“See? See? Call me a liar one more time, see where it gets you.”

Jesse scratched his beard, brow furrowed. “Any other ancient forum conspiracy theories proven true I should know about?”

“Oh, sure. Bigfoot, for one.”

“You’re joking. Really? Where is he?”

“Sitting right next to me. And he needs a shave-” He let out a bark of laughter, accidentally cutting her off, then dissolving into snorting giggles. Sombra joined him, snickering.

“I can’t- I can’t believe I fell for that,” he wheezed, between bouts of laughter.

“Me neither! I’ve had that joke sitting around for so long, you have no idea.”

“Hey- hey, you know-” more laughter “- y’know what they say about guys with big feet!” He wiggled his eyebrows at her conspiratorially.

“Yeah, they trip more.” That got him going all over again, and he fell off the couch onto the floor, still howling with laughter, which got Sombra going as well, until she flopped down next to him on the carpet.

Jesse wiped tears from the corner of his eyes. “Whew. You’re a card, Chess, you really are.”

“Chess?”

“Yeah, like the Cheshire Cat. ‘Cause you’re purple themed and you do the smile all the time- yeah, that one- and you can disappear and reappear and all. Plus you treat life like a chess game and all, so there’s a pun in it.”

“Hm. I like it.”

“Oh, good. Speaking of cats, I should refill the pan…”

“Why do you feed the strays, anyway? You’re only encouraging them to hang around here.”

“That’s the point. It’s nice having them around, y’know? Some of them are friendly enough to let me pet ‘em.”

Sombra regarded him for a moment. “You’re a big softy.”

“Don’t go telling anyone, I have a reputation to uphold. I’m an internationally wanted criminal, y’know.”

She snorted, then put on an impression of the Moment in Crime news reader. “Jesse McCree, remorseless killer and known fugitive, was last spotted- can you believe it- _cuddling a cat_ on the street, that’s right folks, and when the cat wanted to be put down he gave it a _kiss on the head_ , the absolute monster-”

“Don’t even joke, I saw a broadcast where they said I hadn’t tipped a server enough when I got spotted at a cafe a year ago. Total lies, the tip was more than the price of the drink itself.”

“I saw that one! I watch all of them, they’re hilarious. They did one on me once, but they thought I was a big group of people working together, and all the pictures of people they thought were part of it were just randos off the street that happened to be wearing purple.”

 “No shit! I knew this guy, he was a really small-time thief but he had a feature on the show anyway, and they got his face so wrong he sent in a selfie as a joke and they said ‘no spam, please, this is a serious program’-”


	7. 7 - cloaks and capes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sombra snoops.

Sombra flicked through old photographs, buried deep in Ana Amari’s personal files from the Overwatch database. She decided she was sick of Jack Morrison’s stupid face. Amari had been a hobbyist photographer, and had taken pictures of _everything._ Since she was Morrison’s second, she must have seen his squinty mug a lot. That must’ve sucked.

She scowled as each came up devoid of her target. School portrait of Amari’s daughter, news screenshot, a rare candid of Reyes with an actual smile on his face, another news screenshot, group picture- group picture. She increased the size, searching the faces. There. The face structure was right, same crooked grin, the same doofy hat and belt buckle. He was wearing the Blackwatch body armor, had both his arms... And there was Reyes, right across from him. She smiled, always happy to be proven right.

She’d noticed that some things McCree did were eerily familiar. Turns of phrase, certain movements and expressions, the slight drag in the timing of a slow clap, emphasizing the sarcasm... They set off alarm bells in her head every time she saw them. Add that to McCree’s obvious black ops training (well, obvious to her, at least) and the pieces began to fall into place.

Looking a little longer, she found a few more little nuggets- A shot of a young Jesse standing confident on top of what looks to be a mountain, surrounded with thinning trees and a clear blue sky, decked out in hiking gear; Jesse and the younger Amari covered in blankets, cheeks smushed together and beaming at the camera; Jesse, older now, giving the camera a thumbs up as Reyes regards a “#1 ~~Boss~~ Dad” mug, with the Dad added in Sharpie; Reyes and Jesse in all their gear looking battered and tired but happy, arms around each other’s shoulders.

Interesting. Veeeery interesting. She tucked all the photos away in a folder, saving them for later reference.


	8. 8 - nowhere to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sombra overanalyzes, and things are awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS SO LATE ive had the whole fic written for ages but. i hate this chapter, it's weird and awkward and is a bad transition, so keep putting off posting it. the next two are good though

Sombra skimmed the Vishkar files again. Satisfied, she packaged them up neatly, and sent them on their way. Vaswani would be a useful friend, when all this paid off.

The afternoon sun lit the kitchen table up in gold, the light tracing a pair of mugs, a small stack of the morning’s newspapers, and Jesse’s socked feet, propped on the edge of the table.

Jesse tilted his head, looking up from his datapad. “I never did get around to asking, what is it you do all day?” 

She shrugged, pulling up a few new windows. “Mostly research. I’ve found access to almost every intelligence agency in the world, and I like checking in on what they know. Sometimes, they know more than the media does, and that’s always fun, but watching them scramble when they don’t is even better. The rest is programming, or… hm. Let’s call it networking, haha- shit, that reminds me.”

“What?”

She grimaced. She had meant to do this a while ago, it was long overdue, but… best to get it over with. “The month is up, and I have to get moving again. It’s been fun, but I can’t risk staying in one place too long, in case someone’s good enough to get past all the proxies I work with.” Kind of a lie. She could stick around for longer, but she was getting too comfortable here. “It’s unlikely, of course, but you know how it is…”

Jesse’s face fell, and crashed, and there were no survivors. “Oh.” He shifted, raising a hand to scratch the back of his head, not making eye contact. “Yeah, I get it. You do what you gotta do. I should get going too, I’ve been putting it off for a while, I just- yeah. Gotta… gotta keep moving.” He took his feet off the table, rounding his shoulders and making himself smaller.

There was a long silence as they stared at each other awkwardly, until they both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, cut themselves off, and gestured to the other to start.

“If you wanna-”

“No, you go.”

“Oh. Uh. Well.” Jesse scratched the back of his head some more. “If you want to keep coming here. Like if you need a safe house. That’s fine.” He faltered, then squared his shoulders, looking her in the eye. “I… it’s been real nice, having someone else around. Gets kinda lonely, being on the run… and I know I’m not the best roommate around, what with waking you up with weird shit at ass o’clock at night… I’d be fine with it. If you wanted to stay.”

Sombra stared at him for a few long moments, trying to figure out what he was getting at.

“I’m not… into men.”

“What? Oh. Oh, shit, that came across the wrong way, didn’t it. I didn’t mean- see, I’m gay. I wasn’t- no, that’s not what I meant.”

Well, shit. What else could ‘I like having you around’ mean? She realized her stare had turned into a squint and that, if possible, Jesse was looking even more uncomfortable.

“Y’know what, just- just don’t worry about it. You go on and do your thing.”

“Well, I was planning on leaving in the morning tomorrow, so you’ll have to tolerate me for a little bit longer.”

“Fine.”

“Good!”


	9. 9 - more like me where i come from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they drink a lot, and shoot the shit, and make a few mistakes. Warnings for alcohol and a very angry Jesse, who punches a wall but otherwise doesn’t harm anyone.

“So. So here’s the plan… I’d go back in time, and I’d save Tom Jones-”

“Why Tom Jones?”

“Shh. Let me get to that. I’d save Tom Jones, and then I’d break into Helix’s databases, get all the info they have on the God programs, and, and use that to make the meanest, evillest virus I could, and I’d set it on a minor country’s government. Gotta be small enough no one’s suspecting it of much, but important enough I can actually do stuff, right, and then I’m going to use that country to beat up some other countries, and in all the fuss of the world war I’ve created, no one would notice me sneak into the bank, and take aaaaaall the gold.”

“But why’d you save Tom Jones?”

“Why not, Jesse? He could be useful on a bank robbery, you don’t know Tom Jones, maybe crime was his secret passion. Okay. I answered your- your dumb question, now you have to answer mine.”

“Weren’t a _dumb question_ , you’re a dumb question. Anyway.” He took a long swig from the whiskey bottle. They’d long since graduated from using glasses. “What’s your question?”

“How did you end up in Deadlock?”

“Ah, shit. Had to go and ask, didn’t you? I had a friend, who had a friend with an older brother whose friend- no, that’s not right, it was my friend’s older brother’s friend’s friend, or something- anyway. They’d said kids could get fifty dollars if they kept watch for a shift at the warehouse, and fifty dollars was a lot to me when I was thirteen and hated living with my aunt ‘cause she didn’t have time to deal with my angsty shit when she had her own kids and my sister to handle. So I started then, and didn’t realize it was Deadlock I was working for till I’d made some older friends who’d convinced me they’d take better care of me than my family did, and being the dumbass I was, I went and believed them. Wasn’t long after they put a gun in my hands and pointed me in the wrong direction, and the rest is history.”

Sombra was quiet for a moment, mulling this over. “Your parents died?”

“Ain’t your turn to ask.” She rolled her eyes, and took her drink. “How did yours pass?”

Her mouth flattened to a sharp line. She’d never told him she was an orphan. “Dorado air strikes. Our building was hit, or so I was told after. I was four or five, and happened to get lucky when nothing fell directly on me. Parents didn’t.”

Jesse nodded slowly, and took his drink. “My mom was a soldier- one of the first to enlist after it got clear the Crisis wasn’t just a couple bots going haywire. One of the first to get cut down by corrupted Bastion units, too. Dad was a truck driver, ran supply trains for the front line against the Houston omnium.” Sombra grimaced. Houston’s AI had been a dirty fighter, even by God program standards. Both fell silent for a time.

“Your turn to ask,” Sombra said.

Jesse thought for a minute, weighing some possible options. “What is it you’re working on? The _big_ thing, not the small stuff.”

Sombra scowled. She’d been hoping to avoid ever telling the truth on that question, and she _could_ lie, but… ah, fuck it.

“A while ago, I ran into something I’d never seen or heard of before, something big. It found me, which was the scary thing… till then I’d run so low under the radar, nothing had ever been able to trace me. But this thing could, and it destroyed everything I’d built up. My coding projects were corrupted beyond recognition, every backup was gone, even my hardware was fried. They were very thorough. Since then I’ve been trying to track it down, and find out who runs it, and how to control them.”

Jesse whistled. “Always a bigger fish, huh.”

“It’s everywhere, in everything. The longer I look, the more things it’s connected to… Talon, Overwatch, LumeriCo, Volskaya, Numbani… Even smaller, too. Your bounty’s got its trace all over it, they _really_ want you down for some reason.”

“Finally, someone wants me. Hey, may be a dumb question, but ever thought it might be a God program? They’re supposed to all be quarantined, but something of this magnitude…”

“Not your turn to ask a question, but yeah, I have. It’s… possible. I don’t think it is, but I’m not about to rule it out.” She’d expected to feel more vulnerable talking about something so personal that she’d worked on for so long, but it actually… feels kind of nice, to talk about it with someone else.

“Sorry. Still your turn to ask.”

Sombra paused, weighing some options.

“Did you know Gabriel Reyes is still alive?”

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. The half-smile on Jesse’s face died instantly, replaced with a very cold, very _angry_ calm.

_“What.”_

“I said, did you know-”

_“I heard you. Clarify. Now.”_

“I suppose… that’s a no, then.” Awkward. Very, very awkward. “He’s alive… kind of. Undead may be nearer the mark, but he’s not sleeping in any grave. You may have heard about his recent activities as Reaper.”

His eyes had not left her face. He hadn’t blinked, and he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“This isn’t- Don’t you dare joke about this. I’m not messing around, Sombra, if you’re jerking my chain you tell me _right now-_ ”

“It’s true. I’m certain, and I have evidence.”

Jesse stared a moment longer, and she met his gaze. He broke eye contact, and stiffly reached for the bottle on the table. Taking it, he rose, and retreated to his room without another word. The door shut.

She should do something, probably. He wouldn’t want her around, not now, but… well, she’d been wondering how far she could push him before he snapped, before the stone cold killer she’d heard so much about reared his head. Now she knew, but the circumstances were, well. Suboptimal. She figured usually when this happened he had something to shoot at, somewhere for it all to go. Tonight, he just had himself.

A heavy _crunch_ sounded from behind the door, and the wall shook, making the dishes clink in their cupboards. Had that crack in the wall next to the doorway been there before?

It wasn’t her responsibility… but she supposed it was, kind of, in a way, her fault. She could diffuse the situation, maybe. She didn’t have to. But she _should_. At least she could make sure he didn’t do anything rash. Yeah.

She rose and gently put an ear to the door. Pretty quiet… Okay. Here we go. She turned the knob and opened the door.


	10. 10 - mark our shapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jesse opens up, and Sombra learns about friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i had a good reason for this being so damn late but the truth is ive had this chapter written since literally may and i just kept fuckin forgetting to post it
> 
> thank you to anyone who stuck around, im so sorry, and there'll be an epilogue. i may forget to post that too so yell at me to post it.

Moonlight streamed through cracks in the blinds, illuminating a figure seated on the bed, with his elbows on his knees and head bowed. The bottle sits on the bedside table, amongst a few of its cousins from the beer family. 

“Everyone leaves, eventually.” He sounded… tired. Resigned. 

Sombra tentatively perched on the end of his bed, a few feet away. He continued staring at the carpet, seeing nothing. Upon closer inspection, his prosthetic was dusted with crumbs of drywall.

“Ain’t their fault, really, I don’t blame ‘em for it. But you get to noticing a pattern, after a while… parents passed, then my grandparents… got shuffled off to an aunt, that didn’t work out… Deadlock was a family, for a while, till Joey left and I never saw him again. Never did find out what happened to him, he’d said he’d call once he was out of town, but he never rang… Deadlock didn’t much like loose ends.”

“Who was Joey?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Then Gabe picked me up, of course, and things were good, for a while… Felt like a real family, then. He was like a dad, and Ana was like a mom, and Fareeha was my little sister, when she was around to visit. I had friends, and I didn’t have to watch my back all the time, except when I was working, but that was fine, that came with the territory… Then Genji showed up.” He stopped, shook his head, and took a swig from the bottle. “We didn’t get along so well at first, but after a little while, we were near inseparable… but after he finished his work with his clan, he left. I blame him least and most of all, I think. I did what I could with making him feel more comfortable with his situation, but it couldn’t ever be enough. Being around Overwatch, and the constant reminders, that was a living hell for him. I hope he’s doing better now, wherever he is, but I sure as hell don’t know, because he never sent word. Not even a postcard. Guess he just wanted to put it all behind him… even me.” He reached for the bottle, and took a swig.

“Shit all went downhill after that. Fareeha had grown up by then, and hadn’t been around since her falling out with her mom, even though she did keep in touch... But Ana died, and Blackwatch was starting to fall apart. I figured, for once, maybe I’d leave before everyone else left me. Spite, or self-defense, I dunno. Probably both. Sometimes I thought I was cursed, and it was me being around that was making it all happen, and that everyone would be better off if I left… Didn’t work, but you probably figured that part out.” He laughed, bitterly. 

“When Gabe first started training me, I was in a bad way, mentally. He said he’d be a fixed point, as long as I needed him to be. And I did, I really did. Even as I got older, Gabe was always there to catch me when I fell. He was- he was practically immortal, the number of scrapes he’d miraculously wriggled out of...” He laughed again, and this time there was a sharp edge to it. “Imagine my shock when I found out he’d been confirmed dead. Autopsy and everything. I missed the funeral. Didn’t want to be there anyway, since the memorial for Morrison would’ve dominated the whole thing, and I didn’t think I could bear seeing what was left of the old guard again.” His shoulders shook with another laugh, morphing into something else. “And imagine my shock all over again, he’s not dead after all! And I never knew! Maybe he didn’t trust me. Maybe I wasn’t important enough to know. Maybe, maybe he just plain forgot about me, and never thought…” Tears slipped down his face, soaking into his beard, and he lowered his head into his free hand. Sombra scooted a little closer, and hesitantly patted his shoulder. She was used to people crying, but usually it was her fault, and she wasn’t the one trying to comfort them. 

He slumped over, laying his head on her shoulder. “Thanks for… for being a friend, Som.”

She stiffened. A friend? He thought she was his friend? All she did was eat his food and sleep on his couch and make fun of him- and he trusted her enough to let her do it. He  _ encouraged _ it. She invaded his space, and he didn’t push back, he offered her more- why? What did he want from her? He never asked her for anything, never pushed her about things.

He’d been alone before she’d shown up, that she had known. Remembering that, pieces began to fit into place. Since she’d been here there had been fewer dirty dishes left in the sink- she hadn’t been the one cleaning them up. He’d woken up in the middle of the night less. Thinking about it, he’d looked better rested in general. He smiled more, laughed at her jokes and cracked ones of his own.

He was  _ lonely _ , and a month ago she would have laughed at that being such a contributor to his problems, but now she realized... she didn’t want to be alone again either. Solitude had always meant safety, but now she felt… safe, really safe, in a way she hadn’t for years. Not since the red eyes, certainly, when she had been so confident in her skills, so confident that her tracks were imperceptible and that she was invincible in her anonymity. Perhaps before then, even. Having someone around that knows her, knows who she was, who she  _ used _ to be… that was a new feeling, and it was strange. What was stranger still is that for some reason, she didn’t feel as vulnerable as she thought she would in this situation. If anything she felt stronger, and although she never doubted her impact on reality, she felt… solid. On occasion she had felt like a ghost in the world of the living - perhaps a poltergeist, able to affect things and watch interactions but never quite being a part of it all. She had an anchor, now.

She patted his back, and laid her cheek on the top of his head. They sat there for a while, until Jesse was drifting off to sleep and Sombra’s arm had pins and needles. She disentangled herself and stood, as Jesse drowsily laid down and cocooned himself in blankets. As she stood by the doorway, about to leave, she looked back at Jesse, fast asleep, and stopped. 

She said, very quietly, “Thanks for giving me a home,” and left.


End file.
